The Mother of Kings
by Ithunn
Summary: King Henry VIII is dead. King Edward VI begins his reign. Amelia Tudor's life continues on. A sequel to "An Endless Supply of Rubies."
1. A Death and a Marriage

**A/N: Here's another story, focusing more on Amelia's life after the death of her father. You saw the short summary of the future in the previous story,** ** _An Endless Supply of Rubies_** **. This story will pick up right where the last story left off.**

 **In real life, Henry VIII did not name someone as Lord Protector. He left the governance of the nation to a Regency Council. On 4 February 1547, the Council decided to create Edward Seymour Lord Protector. He also gained the titles of Governor of the King's Person and Duke of Somerset. Since the show ended with Henry declaring that Edward was going to be Lord Protector, we will stick with the show on this one.**

 **Anyways, here's a short chapter to start things off.**

* * *

29 January 1547

It felt as though her life had fallen into shambles once again. When Charles had died a year and a half ago, it had hit Amelia hard. Charles had become her best friend, her husband, the father of her children. Together, they had raised six children of their own, as well as Amelia's two half-siblings and their friend Edward Seymour's son.

And now, her father, the King of England, Ireland, and France, had died as well.

At first, she had not had a tremendous reaction to it. Amelia had barely seen or spoken to her father since his death. There had been a rift that had been created between them, with Amelia realizing more and more how tyrannical her father had become. She was not summoned to court when her father lay dying, and, somehow, she was okay with this.

Now, she had returned, all of her children in her wake.

It had been a long time since Edward had seen her. Amelia had gone mostly into seclusion after her husband's death, and since Edward had not been able to leave court, he had been unable to visit. Now, she was nearly thirty years of age, and carried herself with all the dignity and grace that a Queen would. Her children all stood by her, dressed in solemn black, ranging from Elizabeth, the eldest, at nearly fourteen years of age, to the youngest, Philippa, who was now almost four. It amazed Edward to no end that the woman maintained her sanity.

He approached her silently, a somber expression on his face, and saw the sadness in her eyes as she turned to face him. Wordlessly, she offered him her hand, and he kissed it gently. Amelia offered a sad smile in lieu of a greeting.

"I must offer my condolences, my lady," Edward said softly. "How are you?"

"I am doing as well as I can for one who has lost so many in such a short period of time," Amelia replied, her voice holding strong.

"There is a matter that I must discuss with you, no matter how hard it is for me to say," Edward stated. "Perhaps we could speak somewhere a little more private?"

Amelia tilted her head to one side. "Anything you wish to say to me, you also much say in front of my children," she said quietly. "After all, John is now the Duke of Suffolk, and Edward soon to be the King."

"His Majesty King Henry, may he rest in peace, has determined with his will that I will serve as Lord Protector of the Realm until His Grace reaches the age of majority," Edward told her.

Amelia nodded. "I figured that my father would appoint you," she replied. "After all, you are His Grace's uncle."

"There is another thing," Edward said, fidgeting slightly. "His Majesty also decreed in his final will and testament that we are to be married before I can become Lord Protector. The Council wishes that I am named Lord Protector in a week, and also wishes that we are wed before that date."

Amelia balked at the idea at first, her face paling as a thousand thoughts rushed through her head. "My father really asked this of you?" she asked quietly.

Edward could only nod, not able to bring himself to meet her gaze. It was a hard and strange thing to ask a person, to marry them the next day. Perhaps there had been stranger marriages arranged. But the fact that no one had informed her of her betrothal was what bothered him. "I am sorry that no one told you, my lady," he said quietly. "His Majesty did not want to see you married until after his death."

"If His Majesty decreed it, then it must be done," Amelia whispered. Edward's head snapped up, not believing that he just heard her agreeing. "I assume this will be a rather casual affair, something small. On which day?"

Edward smiled. "Anything you would like, my lady," he replied. "If the Council plans to declare me on the fourth of February, perhaps we shall marry the day before, and allow you to prepare

* * *

2 February 1547

Amelia held her old wedding dress in her hands, her fingers rubbing the fabric gently. She had last worn it nearly fourteen years ago. She had just tried it on, completely surprised that it still fit well. Tomorrow, she would wear it again when she married Edward Seymour.

She had almost laughed when he had told her of her father's plans. It made sense when she thought about it from a political perspective. Marrying his daughter to the man who would act as Lord Protector to his son would mean that very few would question Edward's legitimacy as a temporary ruler.

Setting her mind towards marriage, however, was a very difficult task. As a young girl, she had been raised to turn her mind towards marrying Prince Hans of Denmark. When she had returned to England, it had not been hard for her to imagine herself married to Charles. He had been kind to her, and helped her to adjust to England more than anyone else. But Edward Seymour was different. Amelia had known him for many years now. She believed that Edward held some love for her. After all, he had asked her to raise his only son. Edward had been kind to her, and respected her, where others had dismissed her.

Yes, Amelia definitely felt a certain amount of love and respect for Edward. Perhaps, once they were married, her love would grow.

"Mama, are you alright?" a voice asked her. Amelia turned to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway, John standing not far behind her. "There are tears falling from your eyes, mama," Elizabeth whispered.

Amelia touched her face, and felt the trails of tears that fell from her eyes. "I am fine, Elizabeth," she responded with a small smile on her face. "I was simply thinking about the last time I wore this dress. And you know that I am not your mother, right?"

Elizabeth nodded and looked down at her feet. "I know," she responded quietly. "My real mother died when I was very young. You are like my mother, and I will continue to call you 'mama.'" Elizabeth paused for a moment. "Will I be married one day as well?"

Amelia smiled widely. "Of course, my darling," she replied. "You will one day be married to a very handsome and kind man, I am sure of it. Perhaps you shall even wear this dress. Of course you will be much older than you are now."

"What if I do not want to be wed?" Elizabeth asked softly. "You know how father treated his Queens. I do not want the same to happed to me."

Amelia stood and walked to stand in front of the girl, kneeling down in front of her and raising her hand to cup the teenage girl's cheek. "Do not worry, Elizabeth," she replied. "There are more men like Charles and Edward than there are like father."

"What about me?" John asked from behind Elizabeth. "Will I be wed one day?"

A wide smile spread across Amelia's face. "You already know the answer to that, my son," she said. "You know that you are betrothed to Frances Hastings."

John grinned. "I know," he replied.

"Come on now," Amelia said to them, rising to her feet. "There is much we need to do before tomorrow. We mustn't be idle."

She herded both of the young adults out of her chamber, leaving the silver gown sitting on a table, waiting to be worn the following day.

* * *

3 February 1547

"Are you happy, Amelia?" Edward whispered as he came to stand behind her at the window. He was delighted to finally call her by her Christian name without worrying about seeming forward or impolite.

She felt one of his hands caressing the small of her back. "I suppose I am, Edward," she responded, turning to face him. She hesitated for a moment. "Do you love me, as a man should love his wife?" she asked quietly.

He froze, unsure of how to reply. When he had first lain eyes on her, he had thought her to be beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than his own wife, Anne. While Anne had been bold and opinionated, Amelia had been much quieter, although held the same fire that Anne held. Amelia's beauty had been what drew him in, and her personality had entranced him completely.

"I suppose that I do," he admitted quietly, taking her hands in his. "I understand if you do not love me in the same way. I have had time to accept our marriage, and realize the love that I felt for you."

Amelia was silent for a moment, simply staring into his eyes. "I think I love you too," she whispered. "Although I have not thought about loving you for very long, I think that perhaps I do."

He smiled widely, and she smiled in return. "Really?" he asked, barely believing his ears. She nodded in response. "May I kiss you?"

She laughed. "Of course you may," she replied. "We are married, are we not?"

He simply pressed his lips against hers.


	2. A Coronation and Propositions

**A/N: Historically, Henry FitzAlan, the 19** **th** **Earl of Arundel, had three children: Henry (1538-1556), Jane (d. 1576/7) and Mary (d. 1557). Jane married John Lumley, 1** **st** **Baron Lumley, and Mary married Thomas Howard, 4** **th** **Duke of Norfolk. However, in this story, Jane Brandon is going to marry Thomas Howard and Jane FitzAlan is going to marry Owen Brandon. Essentially, I am going to switch things around so that Mary FitzAlan will marry John Lumley instead. I hope that this little bit makes sense. Also, since no birth date is listed for Jane FitzAlan, I am going to say that she was born in 1541, even though she would have likely been a few years older than that in real life.**

* * *

4 February 1547

"Amelia, I'd like you to meet John Dudley, the newly-created Earl of Warwick," Edward said, introducing Amelia to a man whom her father had trusted towards the end of his reign. "My lord, this is my lovely wife, Amelia, the newly-created Duchess of Somerset."

"A pleasure to meet you," Amelia greeted cheerfully, extending her hand for the Earl to kiss.

In the ceremony conducted by the Council earlier that evening, Edward had been named Lord Protector and promoted to the Duke of Somerset.

"Always a delight to meet beautiful women, such as yourself," Warwick responded, kissing Amelia's hand. "His Grace is a very lucky man."

Amelia smiled uncomfortably. "Thank you, my lord," she said. "If you'll excuse me, I see that the Queen Dowager has just arrived, and I would quite like to speak with her."

Edward, sensing his wife's discomfort, bid her farewell. It was no secret that Warwick was a man who hungered for power, as Edward once had. Now that Edward had power, he promised himself that he would do everything that it took to ensure that he wielded the power he had been given as carefully as one would wield a sword in a room full of china. Edward did not know what Warwick would do if he got power. Warwick was an enigma, unpredictable. And Edward intended to keep his friends close, but his enemies closer.

* * *

 _My most Gracious Sovereign,_

 _England proclaimed Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset and brother of the late Queen Jane Seymour, as their Lord Protector and Governor of the King's person this morning. All of the siblings of His Majesty King Edward VI were present, as well as their children. As requested, I write with news of England's most eligible persons._

 _First are the children of the Princess Mary, and her husband, Philip, the Duke of Bavaria. Her Grace has three daughters, Margaret, Annis, and Katherine, ages five years, two years, and one year. Like their parents, they are all black of hair with eyes of blue. Rumor holds, however, that all three are contracted to marry German princes when they come of age, and Her Grace has done nothing to dispel these rumors. As you can imagine, Her Grace is a very private person, and was only briefly seen at the festivities. There are also rumors that Her Grace believes that she is more deserving of the throne than His Majesty._

 _Then, there are the children of the Princess Amelia, a beautiful and learned woman of twenty and nine years. From her marriage to the Duke of Suffolk, who tragically passed a year and a half ago, Her Grace became the mother of six children. Her Grace's oldest son, John Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, is already under contract to wed the eldest daughter of the Earl of Huntingdon. Her Grace's other children, however, are under no such contracts, and marriage to one of them would prove beneficial to Your Majesty's kingdom._

 _Her Grace's next oldest son is named Owen Brandon, a young man of ten years of age. He is a handsome and educated young man who is fluent in several tongues, as Her Grace is. He is a rather charming young man as well, and made the young daughter of the Earl of Arundel blush this morning._

 _Eleanor Brandon is Her Grace's oldest daughter, and rumored to be more beautiful that even Her Grace was at her age. She is nine years of age, and the spitting image of her mother. She is the perfect picture of elegance and grace, and seems to love nothing more than socializing and dancing. She is also a very witty and clever girl._

 _Her Grace's next youngest daughter, Jane Brandon, is the opposite of her sister. She is still witty and clever, but, for a girl who is only seven years of age, she is poised and refined. Her beauty will also one day be great, although I believe her older sister will be far more beautiful._

 _Her Grace's youngest children are Nicholas Brandon, who is six years of age, and Philippa Brandon, who is four years of age, were only present for a few moments, along with the son of the Duke of Somerset, Thomas Seymour, who is five years of age. Her Grace was kind enough to explain that it was far past their bedtimes._

 _In addition to Her Grace's children, Her Grace also acts as a guardian to the Princess Elizabeth, who is now thirteen years of age, and His Majesty, King Edward VI, who is nine years of age. Neither are contracted to be married. Her Grace Princess Elizabeth is a well learned and intelligent girl to whom I spoke briefly. Although Her Grace is rather quiet, I believe that she would be a perfect and capable wife._

 _Signed and dated 4 February 1547_

 _Your Humble Servant and Ambassador to England_

* * *

18 February 1547

"What troubles you, wife?" Edward asked as he watched Amelia pick up and read various pieces of parchment that were strewn about on the table in front of her. Her expression was unreadable, which Edward had learned was not a good sign.

"Do you know what all of these pieces of parchment are for, husband?" Amelia asked in response, looking up from her reading. Edward simply shook his head. "They are letters, from all over England and all over Europe, asking for the hands of my children in marriage. Apparently my children, especially Eleanor, are widely considered to be some of the most eligible in all of Europe!"

Edward chuckled. "And why would they not be?" he countered. "Their mother is the daughter of King Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon, the daughter of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, and the aunt of the Emperor. Their father was one of the closest confidants of the King. And, unlike your sister's daughters, there are no rumors that they have already been contracted to be married."

"Except that two of them are," she grumbled, shifting through the letters once more.

"Really?" Edward asked, slightly surprised at the news.

Amelia sighed deeply. "John is contracted to marry Frances Hastings, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Huntingdon," she replied. "It was a contract that both Charles and I agreed to when both of them were rather young. Jane is also contracted to be married, although it is not public news. Apparently, Charles and the former Earl of Surrey agreed that she should marry the Earl's oldest son, Thomas Howard. I was unaware of this. Charles wrote it in a letter that I was instructed not to open until after his death, since he knew that I would be upset with him for it." She paused. "I never really liked the Howard family."

"Neither did I," Edward responded. "The Earl of Surrey was not among those whom I would consider friends."

"What am I going to do, Edward?" Amelia whispered. "Life was much easier when I was nothing more than the bastard daughter of the King and married to a Duke. My father and Charles all had a say in the future of my children, and now it's just me."

"Organize the proposals, and then review the offers," Edward stated. "It's rather simple. There are just many to choose from, that is all. When you read more on these men, sometimes the truth becomes much clearer."

* * *

19 February 1547

Amelia marveled at the sight of her young brother in his regalia for the procession. Although he was only nine years of age, he wore white velvet with the most intricate silver embroidery, complete with lovers' knots, pearls, diamonds, and rubies. He looked as much as a King as could be.

"Are you nervous, Your Grace?" she asked, kneeling down to get closer to his level.

Edward nodded his head. "What if I do not make a good King, Mama?" he asked softly.

Amelia smiled broadly. "Do not worry, Your Grace," she said. "Your Uncle Edward and I will be right beside you, both through your coronation and until you are old enough to rule England on your own."

He contemplated this for a moment. "Really?"

"Yes," Amelia responded. "I promise with all my heart. Now, we must get ready for the procession to begin. Come along now, Your Grace."

She took Edward's hand in her own and led him towards where his horse stood, draped in the finest red velvet. His grooms helped him to arrange himself on top of his steed, as Amelia watched on, her heart swelling with pride to see her younger brother take his spot as King.

Amelia felt a hand on her back, and turned to see the Earl of Warwick standing behind her. "A proud mother, Your Grace?" he asked, taking his eyes from the King and meeting hers.

"I suppose so, my lord," she responded. "He is a true credit to both our father and Queen Jane."

"Queen Jane was your husband's sister, was she not?" Warwick asked.

"Yes, my lord," Amelia answered, unsure as to where Warwick was taking his line of questioning.

"Then have you considered the possible impediment to your marriage to the Duke of Somerset?" Warwick asked, a predatory grin on his face.

Amelia's expression morphed into a display of diplomatic indifference, hiding the rising anger and fear that she felt. "What do you mean by impediment?" Amelia countered. "I see no impediments. Our marriage was supported by the Supreme Head of the Church of England, and officiated by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself."

Warwick shook his head. "But your husband is the brother of one of your step mothers," he replied. "Personally, and I am surely not the only who thinks this, the degree of affinity is far too close. Perhaps marriage to someone else would be a far better option, Your Grace."

"And who might that be, my lord?" Amelia responded coldly.

"Well, my oldest son, the Viscount Lisle, of course," Warwick replied. "He is a strapping young man, only nineteen years of age, and my heir. Of course, there is quite an age difference between the two of you, but I believe that you would give him to sons that he deserves."

Amelia was furious now, although her face would not show it. "I am married to His Grace, my lord," she said in a low voice. "Our marriage is true and blessed. I suggest you find a wife for your youngest son somewhere else."

She turned without another word and hurried towards where her own horse stood waiting, its reins held by her husband. By now, she had allowed the look of anger to fill her face, causing Edward to look at her with concern.

"Is everything alright?" Edward asked as she mounted her horse.

Amelia scoffed. "The Earl of Warwick believes that because your sister was once married to my father, our marriage should be annulled on the grounds that the affinity between us is too close," she muttered. "You are, after all, my half-brother's uncle."

Edward was quiet for a moment as he mounted his own horse. "But our marriage was blessed by the King himself, and Archbishop Cranmer," he replied. "That should remove any and all impediments."

"That's what I told him," Amelia said. "But it did not stop him from suggesting his own son as a potential match."

Edward nearly fell off his horse.

* * *

"Come on!" seven-year-old Amelia shouted at her older sister, Beatrice. "I want to see the procession of the new King! They say that the Princess Amelia is going to be in it! That's who Mama named me after!"

The older girl sighed and rolled her eyes as her younger sister dragged her along. "It's just the procession, Amelia," she said. "His Majesty isn't going to be crowned until tomorrow."

"I know," Amelia replied. "But this is our chance to see the Princess!"

Eventually, they came to stand at the edge of the crowd, watching intently as the procession began to pass. First, there were those who were on foot. Then, the nobles started riding past, with foreign diplomats and members of the King's council. There were more people after that, one of them carrying an ornate sword.

Finally, Amelia and Beatrice saw the King, soon to be King Edward VI, dressed richly.

"There's the Princess!" Amelia told her sister excitedly, pointing to the woman riding just behind the King and beside some other man. "She's so pretty. She looks like a queen!"

The woman wore a gown of deep purple satin, accented with tiny red rubies and pearls that sparkled in the sunlight. She appeared taller than most women, poised elegantly on her horse, a neutral expression on her face.

Beatrice scoffed next to her sister. "How would you know what a queen looks like, stupid?" she said, rolling her eyes.

Amelia shrugged, but didn't take her eyes off of the Princess. "I want to be just like her one day," the young girl whispered.

* * *

20 February 1547

After seven hours of ceremony, five hours shorter than normal, thanks to Amelia's petitioning, King Edward VI was crowned, King of England, Ireland, and France, Defender of the Faith and Supreme Head of the Church of England. Amelia was proud as someone could be. Edward had sat still for the entire ceremony, and waited patiently for the entire thing to be finished.

"Your Grace," a voice addressed her from behind. She turned to see the Lord High Constable, Henry FitzAlan, the Earl of Arundel, standing not too far away.

"My lord," Amelia greeted with a tilt of her head. "How are you this evening?"

The earl smiled. "I am doing rather well, Your Grace," Henry replied. "I would quite like to put forth a proposal to you, if you would be interested in hearing me out."

Amelia nodded. "I would be happy to hear, my lord," she replied, taking a sip of wine from the goblet she held.

"I have two daughters," Henry began. "The oldest, Jane, is nearly six years of age, and my youngest, Mary, is nearly four years of age. When Jane was born, we were in talks with the Howard family to arrange a marriage between her and Thomas Howard. However, it appears that Thomas Howard has already been promised to your daughter, Jane. Therefore, I was hoping to suggest a match between one of my daughters to one of your sons."

Amelia thought for a moment. The Earl of Arundel was one of the oldest and most prestigious peerages that existed in England. A union with their family would probably be an excellent idea. "My son Owen is nearly eleven years of age," Amelia mused. "Perhaps we can work out a contract between my oldest eligible son and your oldest daughter. Might I ask why you are speaking with me and not my lord husband?"

Henry smiled. "His Grace insisted that he had no say in the marriages of his step-children, and that any decisions regarding their futures would be decided by their mother," he replied.

Amelia thanked him as they bid each other farewell. There were not a lot of women who were able to have that much control over the destinies of their children, and Amelia considered herself lucky that her husband had put that much faith in her. She knew that Edward respected her, but did not know that his respect ran that deep. Now she really didn't want the Earl of Warwick to run off his mouth and question their marriage. There was no way she could be married to two men that held great respect for her, and then passed on to some man years younger than her who probably respected her about as much as a Catholic respected a Lutheran.


	3. A Meeting and a Reunion

**A/N: Finally officially on summer break. Sorry for the brief hiatus, but studying for finals takes precedence over everything, including sleeping and eating. Enjoy!**

* * *

24 February 1547

After a weekend of celebrating the coronation of the new King, it was time for Council meetings to begin to look at the state of affairs of the nation. Amelia knew that the nation was a mess. They were fighting with Scotland and France, their valuable trade links with the two nation with both nations completely decimated, and many internal affairs were not as they should be. She smoothed the front of her skirt nervously. Although many women had started to wear more and more elaborate fashions, Amelia still preferred the simple styles of earlier years, her dresses lacking the slashes and jewels that many of her contemporaries wore. Today, she was going to sit in with the Council, and she did not wish to bring attention to herself.

"Are you ready, Amelia?" Edward whispered, appearing at her side and offering his arm.

Amelia paused and looked up at him. "I suppose I am, Edward," she replied softly, taking his arm as they began to walk towards the Council chambers. "You know they will not accept my presence," she whispered. "They will call me a witch and ask to have me burned."

"You are the daughter of the King, the widow of a great Duke, and the wife of the Lord Protector, as well as the sister of the King," Edward responded. "You are untouchable. Let me worry about the attitudes of the Council members."

Edward's words did not do much to comfort her. When her father had been King, no one in the Kingdom had been safe from his wrath, not even her or Mary, or his wives. Even now, Amelia still felt slightly unsafe entering the Council chambers. It was not a place for women, even women of her status, to be.

As Amelia and Edward entered the chambers, all the men rose and bowed, before they began whispering, and then shouting about Amelia's presence, boldly accusing her of being a seductress or witch for entering the chambers with her husband.

Edward simply stood at the head of the table, his face stoic. The men around the table eventually quieted and settled down when they caught the look in his eyes. "The Princess Amelia will be joining us," Edward said with conviction, as if he was the ultimate authority. "The will of King Henry VIII, may he rest in peace, stipulates that the Princess is responsible for all decisions that concern the welfare of His Majesty, and therefore she will be present at all Council meetings. Is there anyone who would like to disagree?"

There was a pause in the room, as the men murmured amongst themselves.

After a few moments, Edward spoke again. "Seeing as there are no objections, we shall continue with business," he said, and launched into the meeting.

Amelia sat at his side quietly, listening to the discussions about war. It was going to be a long one, for sure. The lords who spoke were mostly in favor of war, for various reasons. They wanted revenge against the French for kicking their butts, and to retaliate more against the Scots for rejecting their offer of a treaty. There was anger and resentment in the room, but Amelia noticed that not a single man was concerned about trade or the merchant class. Why wasn't the welfare of the common people being addressed.

"May I speak, my lord?" she asked her husband softly, so no other lord could hear her request.

Edward turned to look at her strangely, wondering what she could possibly have to say on the matter of war. Eventually he quieted the men down, and allowed Amelia to rise and address them.

"My lords, many of you are probably wondering why I have chosen to speak on such a matter that reaches far beyond the knowledge of my sex," Amelia said, choosing her words carefully. "I believe that the matter of war, and who England chooses to fight it with, will forever reflect the reputation of King Edward, as it has with so many Kings in the past. Your reasons for going to war are admirable, but they do not take into account the common people of England, whom you must not overlook in your quests for glory. My lordships, the wars fought by my father destroyed the valuable trade that our merchants spent lifetimes building, and helped to cement his reputation among other nations as a tyrant. I do not want the reputation of King Edward to be the same. I would rather have him remembered as a peaceful King who brought about a period of reformation and restoration to England. Therefore, I must beg your lordships to reconsider the decision of war, and instead focus on England's internal state of affairs."

When she sat again, the faces of the men surrounding her showed complete surprise and shock. Edward himself was surprised. He knew that his wife was intelligent, but he had never imagined her to be a skilled diplomat as well. Her points made sense, even if she was noting more than a woman.

"Why should we listen to you and care about the common people?" one of the older earls asked from the other end of the table.

"Because if you keep the common people happy, my lord, then they will not rebel," Amelia responded smoothly. "Except, this time, those who rebel would be merchants with money rather than the peasants of the North."

The earl had no further questions.

* * *

27 February 1547

"Mary!" Amelia exclaimed upon seeing her older sister for the first time in a while. "I am so happy to see you. They tell me that you are doing well and enjoying your time in Hunsdon, yes?"

Mary did not smile or share in her sister's enthusiasm. "My family is doing quite well, thank you," she replied stoically.

"How are your daughters?" Amelia continued, leading her sister over to the chairs by the fire. "Margaret must be your pride and joy. She was such a clever little girl the last time I saw her. And Annis and Katherine must be getting to big! How old is Katherine now? Nearly two years old, yes?"

Again, Mary's face betrayed no emotion. "My daughters are fine," she responded. "Margaret, Annis, and Katherine are all fine girls who will do us proud one day."

"What is on your mind, Mary?" Amelia asked, sensing her sister's foul mood.

Mary sighed deeply and turned to look at the fire. "He should not wear the crown," she whispered softly.

"What do you mean?" Amelia replied. "He is our brother. He has every right to be the King."

Mary turned back to look at her sister. "His mother was never crowned as the Queen of England. She never had her coronation. Therefore, I believe that our brother is nothing more than a bastard," Mary stated quietly but fiercely. "I should be the one to wear the crown. Our mother was the true Queen of England, and we are the true heirs to the throne. First me, then you, then Edward. That's the way that it should be."

"How could you say such a thing against Queen Jane?" Amelia asked, rising to her feet. "She was a virtuous and lovely woman, with the kindest and purest soul. Even if her coronation was never held, she was still a Queen. And what about our sister Elizabeth? Does she not have a place in the line of succession?"

Mary scoffed. "Elizabeth has no place in the line of succession," she said. "Her mother was a witch who was never really married to our father. That makes her the bastard daughter of sorceress and and adulteress. Her name has no place among ours."

"How can you say such things against your own family?" Amelia whispered, barely understanding how this cold and heartless woman in front of her had once been her sister. "We are your family. We love you. Edward is our brother, and now he is the King. You should be happy for him, not trying to bring him down."

"You will never understand the struggles that I went through," Mary replied in a low voice. "Father always favored you. He saw you married to the most eligible man in the kingdom, even though we had the brand of bastard burned into our names, and then he saw you married to the most eligible man again after his death. You gave him grandsons, whereas I only gave him granddaughters. When is it my turn to be in favor, Amelia? When do I get to have my day?"

Amelia just looked away, unsure of how to respond to her sister, tears beginning to spill from her eyes.

"That's what I thought," Mary said with venom in her voice as she turned to leave.

* * *

Amelia was still sitting in her chair beside the fire when Edward returned home.

"My sister came to see me today," she said hoarsely, not even bothering to look at him. Her body was tired and dehydrated from crying.

"I take it it was not a happy reunion," Edward said, taking the vacant chair across from her.

Amelia finally turned her head to face him. "She's unsatisfied, Edward," she replied. "Mary still only has daughters. She believes that the crown should be hers instead of Edward's. She thinks that father always favored me much more than he favored her."

"You took the oath all those years ago, and she did not," Edward reminded her quietly. "His Majesty took that oath very seriously."

"I suppose he did," she replied.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts, before Edward rose. "The Council has voted to send envoys to Scotland and France to talk of peace, not of war," he told her with a smile. "Your speech left quite the impression. Guess who they have decided should go to France to speak with the French King?"

Amelia rose, an expression of disbelief on her face. "Are they sending you?" she asked.

Edward smiled and shook his head. "No, they believe that I must stay here and begin to manage internal affairs," he replied. "They have asked if you would serve as England's ambassador."

A wide smile spread across Amelia's face. "I am honored to accept the position," she said, masking the great excitement that she felt. "When am I to leave?"

"In a few days' time," Edward responded. "You will, of course, be accompanied by several noblemen, as well as Elizabeth, John, and Owen."

"I cannot wait," Amelia whispered, embracing her husband. She only hoped that the French would accept her as an ambassador.


	4. A Treaty and A Proposal

**A/N: King Francis I of France died on 31 March 1547 and was succeeded by his son, Henry.**

* * *

9 March 1547

Arriving in France was stressful, at least for Amelia. Elizabeth, John, and Owen enjoyed the journey immensely. They had never really left England before. Amelia could understand their excitement. France was foreign and exotic to them. They ran back and forth, jumping up and down with joy despite the number of times Amelia pleaded with them to calm down. She couldn't be mad, at them, however, as their happiness put her at ease.

In Amelia's mind, the French royal family considered her to be nothing more than the daughter of the enemy. Her father's reputation was of an English Nero, the Roman emperor who had supposedly played his fiddle as he watched the city of Rome burn. Her father had been a destructive force at the end of his life, by attempting to invade other nations at the expense of his own. She only imagine that the French despised her.

They had decided to meet at Boulogne, the very city that Henry had invaded a few years prior. There were not many English soldiers left in Boulogne, but there were enough to defend the city from several French attempts to retake it. There had been some confusion when she had first arrived in Boulogne, as many of the English soldiers who were there expected the Duke of Somerset to conduct negotiations, not the Duchess.

She now stood just behind the double doors leading into the makeshift throne room, where Francis and his family would be waiting for her. Amelia looked up nervously, as if she was looking to God in the heavens above and silently praying. After a few seconds, she took Owen's hand in her own. "We better not keep His Majesty waiting," she said with a nervous smile, looking to John and Elizabeth, who stood on either side of her.

The French royal guard pushed the doors open, and Amelia was nearly blinded by the sudden influx of natural light, but she kept standing tall and straight. "Their Graces, the Princesses Amelia and Elizabeth," the herald announced. "His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk, and Owen Brandon."

The royal family where stood on the other side of the room was a sight to see, dressed extravagantly in clothing of the finest red silks and embellished with gold and pearls. A rather sickly-looking Francis sat on his throne, and his queen, Eleanor of Austria, sat to his right. A finely-dressed woman stood behind the king, whom Amelia could only assume was Anne de Pisseleu d'Heilly, the King's official mistress.

A man sat on the King's other side, who looked to be about Amelia's age. Based on where he sat, Amelia assumed the man to be Francis's son Henry, the Dauphin of France following his older brother's death the previous year. The woman at Henry's side, therefore, had to be Catherine de'Medici, a daughter of the powerful Italian family. Currently, they were the Duke and Duchess of Brittany.

The marriage of Henry and Catherine had been marred with scandal for years. They had married in 1533, when they were both fourteen years of age, the same year that Amelia had married Charles. However, in the first ten years of their marriage, Henry and Catherine had not had any children. This had become especially scandalous when Henry had been named the Dauphin of France, had also fathered a bastard daughter on another woman, and had taken the much older Diane de Poitiers as his official mistress. The couple seemed to have solved their marital problems, however, as evidenced by the young boy, Francis, and the baby girl, Elizabeth, that Catherine held on her lap.

On the King's other side, next to Queen Eleanor, was the other son, Charles, and the youngest daughter, Margaret. Charles, the Duke of Orléans, was rumored to be Francis's favored son. His older brother, Henry, was much more downcast and gloomy, according to English envoys who had visited before. Charles was lighthearted and upbeat, with a reputation of frivolousness and opulence that was mostly unmatched in Europe. Margaret was nearly twenty-four years of age, and not yet married or betrothed, which was rather strange, especially considering that she was the daughter of a powerful European king.

"Your Majesty," Amelia said when she approached the King, falling to her knees in front of the throne. The children did the same, all four of them bowing their heads in respect for the monarch in front of her.

She heard Francis rise from his chair and shuffle forward to stand in front of her, his cane tapping along the ground as he moved. Out of the tops of her eyes, Amelia could see the King's shoes. She rose to her feet when he stopped in front of her, and he kissed her on both cheeks. "Welcome, Your Grace," the King said, his voice gravelly. "It is an honor to receive you at our court."

"The honor is all mine, Your Majesty," Amelia replied. "England is very grateful that Your Majesty has given us the opportunity to speak of peace."

Francis smiled. "I must admit that I was deeply surprised, Your Grace, that the English would want to talk of peace, while all they seemed to want was war," he said.

Francis wanted her to break down, but Amelia refused. "That was the reign of my father, Your Majesty," Amelia responded. "My father saw war as a way to reclaim his youth, and he Scotland as his enemy because they would not submit to his will. I think he saw France as an enemy because of your alliance with Scotland. I can assure you, my brother does not share the same views as my father." She paused. "I should know. I raised him myself, Your Majesty."

"England is beginning a new era, is it?" Francis asked.

"We hope to enter an era of peace and prosperity, Your Majesty," Amelia replied. "We are hoping that France and Scotland will help us bring peace to our realm."

King Francis smiled at the girl who stood before him. She was bold, that's for sure. She had probably inherited that from her mother. Catherine of Aragon, as he recalled, was quite strong in spirit and conviction. Her father was someone that Francis never really trusted. But Amelia, this woman, was something different entirely. It was certainly a chance to trust her, but Francis knew that he was growing old and weary. For now, he decided, he would trust her, but look for ways that she could double cross him.

"Walk with me, Your Grace," the King told her, a hint of a smile on his face.

* * *

"This fortress was a beautiful stronghold in its day," King Francis said to the woman walking slowly alongside him, keeping with his pace.

"I can imagine so, Your Majesty," Amelia replied, looking at the remnants of the mighty walls that had once encased the city. "I am deeply apologetic, as is my brother, for the state of this wonderful city."

"There was once an idea, presented to me by one of your father's ambassadors, like I would like to revisit in order to solidify an alliance with certainty," Francis told her. "Do you remember that, Eleanor?"

Francis and Amelia turned back to look at the woman who was following them, a woman who was actually Amelia's own cousin, as she had discovered. The Queen simply nodded her head.

"The marriage that your father proposed was between one of my sons, and one of his daughters," Francis said. "At one point, it was your elder sister, the Princess Mary, but I understand that she is now very happily married to a German duke."

"She is, Your Majesty, with three beautiful daughters," Amelia replied.

"That leaves your younger sister, the Princess Elizabeth, and my son, Charles," Francis concluded.

"It would seem that way," Amelia mused. "Her dowry, for this marriage, could include the city of Boulogne, rebuilt and restored, could it not?"

The King grinned. "I like the way that you think, Your Grace," he laughed.

* * *

20 March 1547

"You did what?" Edward exclaimed, standing from his chair.

"I simply negotiated a marriage between King Francis's youngest son and my younger sister, Elizabeth," Amelia stated. "As Elizabeth's guardian and the appointed ambassador, I feel that it was completely in my power."

"I wasn't talking about the marriage," Edward said. "I was talking more about the dowry. Rebuilding the city? That could take years!" He started pacing the floor. "That's not taking into account the manpower and the resources that would go into a project like that."

"That's the whole point," Amelia said, making Edward stop and look at her. "Elizabeth is only thirteen years of age. Legally, she could have been married to the Duke the same day the contract was drawn. But I bought her more time, to grow up a little bit more, learn more French…" she trailed off and looked out the window to see the children playing in the garden. "I just don't want her to leave before she's ready to," she whispered.

"Before she's ready to, or before you're ready?" Edward asked softly.

Amelia wasn't really sure.


	5. A Surprise and A Visit

**A/N: Catherin Parr's marriage to Thomas Seymour was a secret. They likely married in April or May of 1547, which was not long after King Henry's death. Because of the short span of time and Catherin's title of Queen Dowager, this marriage was considered to be quite a scandal. Their marriage also helped to highlight the rivalry that was beginning to develop between Edward and Thomas, and especially between Catherin Parr and Edward's wife, Anne Stanhope. Catherin Parr had assumed that, as King Edward's stepmother, she would act as regent in his youth. Both Thomas and Catherin viewed Edward as an enemy because of his position and power. In addition, Anne Stanhope ended up arguing that Catherin needed to return the jewels she wore as Queen, since, as the wife of the Lord Protector, she was entitled to wear them as well. Anne eventually won the argument.**

* * *

21 March 1547

"I've done some thinking," Amelia said, rolling over into Edward's arms in the early morning.

"About what?" Edward mumbled in response.

"About what you said last night, about Elizabeth's betrothal," Amelia whispered. She paused for a moment. "I don't think that I am ready to see any of the children that I've raised married yet," she continued. "They just all seem so young, and in my mind, I guess that I will always see them as my children, no matter how old they grow."

"Something my mother always told me was that you never see your children grow up," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair. "One morning, they're your children, and they depend on you for everything. The next moment, they're old enough to be out in the world on their own. You'll know the moment when you come to it."

She hoped that that particular moment would come exactly when she needed it to.

* * *

31 March 1547

King Francis was dead.

The entire English royal family wore black that day to mourn the loss of an ally, and show solidarity with the new King Henry II of France. While Amelia was writing her letters of condolence, a man she had not seen in a long while knocked on her door.

"Baron Sudeley," Amelia gasped in surprised when she opened the door. "It's been a while."

Thomas Seymour smiled. "It's been too long, Your Grace," he replied. "I meant to stop by much earlier, and congratulate you and my brother on your marriage. I also meant to congratulate the Princess Elizabeth on her betrothal to the Duke of Orléans, if the marriage is still to take place, of course."

Amelia raised her eyebrows. "Why would you think that the marriage would not take place, my lord?" she asked, keeping all emotion out of her voice.

"Well, I simply assumed that since His Majesty King Francis had signed the treaty, it had become invalid," Thomas responded with a shrug.

Amelia drew herself up to her full height, held her back straight as a board, and clasped her hands in front of her. "Your assumptions would be false, my lord," she said through the tight smile on her face. "My sister is still betrothed to His Grace, and will marry her upon the completion of the city of Boulogne. Is that all you came to do, my lord?"

Thomas looked stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Yes, Your Grace," he said with a charming smile. "I bid you good day."

The man turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving Amelia to wonder exactly what game the man was playing.

* * *

24 February 1548

There were several things that Amelia had settled over the past few months.

First, Amelia had settled on a wedding date for her oldest son, John, and the girl he had been betrothed to for many years, Frances Hastings. She had reached an agreement with Frances's father that the pair would be married when they were both seventeen years of age. John and Frances were now both thirteen, and starting to spend more time together. Amelia had been teaching them both French, and could see the stolen glances that were shared between the two.

Secondly, the construction on the city of Boulogne had begun, starting with the buildings closest to the heart of the city and working out to the grand wall that had once surrounded it. The work would be slow, Amelia was almost certain of that. She hoped that by the time Elizabeth was eighteen years of age, she would be married.

Thirdly, she had arranged a marriage for her second oldest son, Owen, to Jane FitzAlan, one of the daughters of Henry FitzAlan. She was a daughter of one of the oldest and proudest families in the history of England. Amelia had also managed to ensure that her daughter, Jane, was not married to Thomas Howard until she was seventeen years of age

It seemed as though everything was headed in a good direction. At least, until scandal hit the court.

It appeared that back in May, the Queen Dowager, Catherin Parr, had married Thomas Seymour, only about five months after the death of the king.

"It's an absolute scandal," Mary muttered, pacing the floor. "How could she do this, marrying someone so soon after our father's death?"

Amelia sighed. Mary had burst in early that morning, demanding to know what little information Amelia knew about the Queen Dowager's marriage. "I think that they were in love before she married father," Amelia mused in her seat at the table. "Perhaps her feelings for Thomas Seymour never dissipated. The marriage needed to be private to present a scandal such as this."

"But did they really do it for love?" Mary asked. "You know that Catherin wanted to be regent for our brother's minority. Thomas Seymour wanted that power as well, but his brother got it first. You don't think that this marriage is a play for power? She even still has the crown jewels!"

"If it was a ploy for power, then why did it take so long for them to come forward with their marriage?" Amelia countered. "If this was really some kind of ploy for power, then they would have admitted to their marriage much sooner, I think. Or, they would have waited longer to get married in the first place, until Catherin had mourned an appropriate amount of time and received permission from the crown."

"If they were going to keep it a secret and not use it as a ploy for more power, then why come out now?" Mary replied, collapsing into the chair across from her sister.

"You haven't heard?" Amelia asked. Mary shook her head. "Catherin is with child."

* * *

11 March 1548

Part of the marriage contract between Charles and Elizabeth had been that an official annual visit would take place on the date that the contract was signed, so that the two could get to know one another better. The first official visit would be taking place in England, so that the Duke could meet the King for himself. Almost all of English court had turned up to see the foreign prince. Rumors had been swirling around that he was the perfect Renaissance prince.

The Duke was a tall man, with dark hair and dark eyes that made all the women at court swoon. He hadn't taken an official mistress, as his older brother had. Amelia was silently thankful that Elizabeth would not have to compete with anyone for Charles's affections.

All of Elizabeth's family was present for the visit, standing near the throne. Elizabeth herself was seated next to her brother, the king, dressed as one would expect a princess to dress, with fine red silks and pearls. King Edward himself looked like the finest-dressed child in all of England, Amelia thought, especially with the crown that sat upon his head. Edward Seymour, who stood behind the King, wore black.

Amelia stood on one side of the parted crowd, with the children standing in front of her. John, Owen, Eleanor, Jane, Nicholas, Philippa, and Thomas were all dressed in their finest silks. Amelia even wore a gown of a fashionable style, with all the trimmings, despite the fact she preferred the simpler styles that were popular in her youth.

Mary stood on the other side of the parted crowd, with Philip by her side and their children standing in front of them. Margaret, Katherine, and Annis looked just like their mother, standing tall with neutral expressions on their faces.

Catherin Parr and Thomas Seymour were present as well, standing not too far away from Mary and her family. Thomas was dressed richly, far more richly than his yearly earnings from the crown. It had to be because of Catherin's wealth, being widowed three different times. But what really caught Amelia's eye was Catherin. She was dressed as finely as Elizabeth was dressed, but was wearing the crown jewels as if she were still the Queen of England. There was something about that which was slightly unsettling.

The herald announced the Duke's entrance, and everyone at court turned their heads in anticipation. There were audible gasps as the man and his followers entered. Every courtier, save for Thomas and Elizabeth, was staring at the Duke. Amelia was looking about the room, taking in the positive reactions towards the Duke, while Thomas did not take his eyes off of Elizabeth.

"Your Majesty," Charles said, kneeling before the king.

"Your Grace," Edward replied. "England welcomes you with open arms."

Amelia smiled as Edward spoke. He was only ten years old, but in that moment, Amelia believed him to be much older.

"I want to thank Your Majesty for such a warm welcome to your country," Charles said. "I believe it is the warmest I have ever had."

Edward looked over to Elizabeth, who rose from her seat to curtsey before Charles. "Your Grace, it would be an honor to show you around the castle," she said.

Charles smiled. "It would be an honor to have you show me around," he replied. "May I ask who your chaperones will be?"

"My dearest sisters, the Princess Mary and the Princess Amelia, will be accompanying us," Elizabeth responded.

Charles looked confused. "The Queen Dowager will not be accompanying us?" he asked, turning to look at Catherin, who took a hopeful step forward.

"No, she will not," Mary replied, taking a step forward. "The lady Catherin is with child, and we would not want her to become excited or agitated.

Catherin's smile faltered and she froze, knowing that she had been made.

* * *

"Can you believe that our father once tried to betroth me to him?" Mary asked Amelia in a whisper as they followed Elizabeth and Charles. "Look at them, Amelia. They just get along so perfectly."

It was true. While Charles was loud and humorous, Elizabeth was quiet and refined. He laughed heartily, and she giggled quietly. His flirtations were overt and plain, while hers were softer and cleverer. They seemed to be the opposite of one another, yet they seemed to be a perfect match.

"Do you think that I made the right decision?" Amelia whispered in response. "Do you think that she will be happy, that England will be happy?"

Mary smiled. "I think that father would have approved," she whispered. "England will approve as well once they see just how wonderful the Duke of Orléans is."

"But will Thomas Seymour be happy?" Amelia asked. Mary gave her a strange look. "You haven't seen the way that he looks at her? I swear that he looks at her with more lust in his eyes than he looks at his own wife. It worries me, sister."

"Thomas will not do anything as long as Edward is in charge," Mary whispered. "He can't."

Amelia was silent for a moment. "But what if Thomas tries to take charge?" she whispered.

Neither woman wanted to answer that question.


	6. A Birth and A Downfall

**A/N: Mary Seymour was the only child of both Catherin Parr and Thomas Seymour. She was born on 30 August 1548. Only six days later, Catherin Parr died from complications, leaving Thomas Seymour a widower. Mary Seymour was taken first into the household the Duke and Duchess of Somerset, her uncle and aunt, and then by the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk, Catherine Willoughby, and her husband, Richard Bertie. It is generally agreed that Mary was an unwelcome burden on the Dowager Duchess. After that, it is not known exactly how long she lived, as there is no historical record of her after the year 1550, suggesting that she did not live to the age of two. There are several theories that state that Mary could have survived to adulthood. One states that she was married to Sir Edward Bushnel, who served Anne of Denmark, James I's Queen Consort. Another theory is that she was raised by the Harts, a Protestant family in Ireland.**

* * *

6 September 1548

Thomas Seymour arrived in London from his home in Gloucestershire with a tiny baby in his arms and tears in his eyes. Catherin Parr had passed the morning before, after catching childbed fever. Mary, they had decided to name her, after the Princess Mary.

"She left me everything in her will, but she mentioned nothing about Mary," Thomas had said to Amelia. "It's like when Anne died. I cannot raise a child on my own, Your Grace. I thought that maybe…" He trailed off.

"You want me to raise her in my household," Amelia finished for him softly. The man in front of her holding the tiny girl seemed broken in a sense. Clearly, Thomas had not been expecting to lose his wife, and the seemingly permanent look of shock and surprise on his face reflected this.

Wordlessly, Amelia reached out her arms for baby Mary, and Thomas wordlessly handed the infant over. The baby had the eyes of her mother, and the dark hair of her father. It was a striking contrast, and Amelia could tell that Mary would one day grow into a beautiful young woman, her beauty rivaling her mother's.

"I will raise her to be a credit to her mother in every way," Amelia whispered.

Thomas simply nodded his head and walked out of the room numbly.

Amelia wasn't sure how long she sat there, rocking the baby back and forth and cooing softly at her. It was similar to when she had first held Edward and Anne's son, Thomas. The baby was not hers, but it almost felt like Mary was her own daughter.

Edward entered the room after what seemed like an eternity, and knelt down beside his wife. "Our niece?" Edward asked softly, his eyes not leaving the infant girl.

Amelia nodded. "She's beautiful," she whispered.

"She is," Edward agreed. He paused. "My brother has been flirting with Elizabeth," he admitted quietly. "I saw him myself, shortly before coming here."

"It's just like you said," Amelia responded softly. "Yesterday, Elizabeth was only a child. But now, holding a baby in my arms, I realize that Elizabeth is an adult. I think it might be time to renegotiate our contract with France, and allow Elizabeth to become a ward of King Henry II."

"Maybe," Edward said. "Give it a little bit of time. Perhaps things will change."

"Perhaps," Amelia echoed, hope evident in her voice.

* * *

16 January 1549

England was doing rather well under the rule of King Edward VI. Edward Seymour, with the help of both Amelia and Mary, had helped to introduce social, economic, and religious reforms to England that made it more prosperous than it had been in years. Trade with France and Scotland had resumed following treaties with both countries, leaving merchants from all countries with huge profits. France especially saw great profits from the trade of goods that they had obtained from their alliance with the Ottoman Empire.

In terms of religious reforms, the Edwards had worked on them alone. Just yesterday, they had mandated that all masses be said in English. Mary was naturally unhappy, but was granted a special reprieve to continue practicing mass in Latin. Amelia was neutral on the matter, and simply followed what the laws said.

Despite the reforms, Thomas Seymour had been openly opposing his brother's rule as Lord Protector, and attempting to gain support for his own takeover of rule. Something had changed in the man following Catherin's death. He seemed more power-hungry than ever. After the first week of Thomas's strange behavior, Amelia had even found him having a conversation with Elizabeth, unchaperoned. Thomas had seemed unreasonably close to Elizabeth, while Elizabeth looked incredibly uncomfortable. From then on, Elizabeth followed Amelia everywhere. Following Amelia also helped Elizabeth to learn more about what it meant to be the wife of a powerful duke.

Edward seemed to be in denial about the fact that his brother wanted to oust him. There was no way that his own brother would want to see him gone. In fact, Edward had even called for a council meeting so that Thomas could explain exactly why he was trying to oust the Lord Protector. The meeting might have worked, if Thomas had bothered to show up. After that, it was any man's guess as to why Thomas acted the way he did.

Thomas reached the height of his grab for power on one cold January night. Amelia and Edward were fast asleep in their bed when someone had pounded on their door, one of the king's personal guards. Amelia and Edward had woken with a start, and slowly pulled on dressing gowns before the answered the door.

"There's been an incident outside of His Majesty's apartments, Your Graces," the guard stuttered, his eyes wide with fear.

"What happened?" Edward asked with urgency. "Is His Majesty safe?"

The guard nodded. "His Majesty is safe, Your Graces," the man replied. "The Baron of Sudeley was caught outside His Majesty's apartments, in the gardens with a loaded pistol. The guards were alerted when one of His Majesty's spaniels began to bark. My lord Seymour shot the dog and then ran. We have guards out looking for him now."

Edward's expression was unreadable. "Thank you," Amelia whispered to the guard. "Let us know when you have him in custody."

The guard bowed and walked away, while Amelia pulled Edward back into their chamber. He sat down while she stoked the fire. Edward remained silent, deep in thought, his chin resting in his hand. Once the fire was a little bit stronger, Amelia turned back to look at her husband and took in the blank expression on his face, before sitting down next to him and taking his free hand in hers.

"What's on your mind, love?" Amelia whispered.

Edward was silent for another few minutes before he finally spoke. "My brother," he whispered back. "I thought he had limits, that he wouldn't…" He trailed off and sighed. "What could he have been doing out there, Amelia? Outside His Majesty's apartments, a loaded pistol in his possession… It doesn't look good, especially considering his unabashed ambition for power. What if he was looking to kidnap the King, or something along those lines? He would have turned the entire country upside down, destroyed everything that we worked for to set the King up with a good country to take when he came of age."

"Do you really think that he was looking to take Edward?" Amelia asked softly.

Before Edward could answer, someone knocked on the door again. He sighed deeply and rose from his seat, followed closely by Amelia.

"What is it now?" Edward hissed as he ripped the door open.

"My lord Sudeley has been arrested and brought to the tower," a guard stuttered nervously, taking in the angry expression on Edward's face.

"Take me to see him right away," Edward told the guard. He turned to Amelia. "Go back to bed, love. I'll see you in the morning." He kissed her quickly and hurried off to see his brother.

* * *

20 March 1549

Edward had not spent much time with his family in the past month. It seemed as though many believed that Thomas was guilty of treason, as he was charged on thirty-three different counts. He had been bribing Sir William Sharington, the vice-treasurer of the Bristol Mint, as well as continually making inquiries about Elizabeth, including questions about her estate, well-being, and movements throughout the castle. The council had painted him as a power-hungry man intent on kidnapping the king, kidnapping and marrying the Princess Elizabeth, and controlling the crown completely and utterly. There had even been rumors that he had planned assasinations of Mary and Amelia, those who would have taken over the throne before Elizabeth, the only people that currently stood in the way.

The first time that Amelia had really seen Edward in the past few weeks was on a Sunday afternoon. After mass, Amelia had taken baby Mary Seymour out for a walk in the gardens, along with Nicholas, Thomas, and Philippa. They day wasn't particularly cold, and was one of the first nice days that had experienced in a while.

Amelia and the children returned home with smiles on their faces and laughter surrounding them. But when they got there, Edward was sitting in a chair, facing the fire, a somber expression on his face. Amelia quietly shooed the three older children, and sat down next to her husband.

"My brother was executed this morning, per the orders of the Council," Edward murmured.

"So Mary is an orphan," Amelia whispered.

Amelia leaned against her husband, his arm wrapping around her as her head rested on his shoulder. They sat like this for a long time, looking at the infant orphan in Amelia's arms, because while Edward had lost one of his siblings, Mary had lost her parents, and her inheritance, before she even reached her first birthday.


	7. A Resolution and A Question

**A/N: The Prayer Book Rebellion occurred in 1549 in Devon and Cornwall. Catholics in Devon and Cornwall were upset by the religious reforms introduced in early 1549, especially the introduction of Thomas Cranmer's** ** _Book of Common Prayer_** **, which mandated, among other things, Mass given in English instead of Latin. While most of England accepted these reforms, the Cornish people did not. Unlike most of England, English was not the first language of the Cornish people. In addition, their distance from London, and their lack of participation in the Pilgrimage of Grace, much of the religious propaganda that other parts of England were exposed to was not as strong in Devon and Cornwall. A small rebellion ensued, which was quickly put down by the crown.**

* * *

16 June 1549

In most of England, the Protestant reformation went along well. People from all corners of England had accepted the changes that Edward had made, which Amelia believed served to only inflate his ego. Every time Edward entered the room with his chest puffed out and a smug smile on her face, Amelia had simply rolled her eyes.

Today was different. Instead of the smug man that should have walked through the door, since the Book of Common Prayer had been issued the week prior, Edward looked downright angry. From the words that Amelia could hear during his mumbled rant, there was some sort of rebellion taking place in the southwestern part of the country.

"They refuse our religious reforms, while the rest of the country accepts them," Edward had finally shouted. "I don't understand. We brought them out of the dark ages, gave them God's Holy Word to read in our tongue, and yet they cling to the ignorant ways of Catholicism. Why must they think they are different from the rest of the country?" He collapsed into the chair across from his wife and simply stared at her, as if he were looking for an answer to his rhetorical question.

"Who has rebelled?" Amelia asked calmly, looking up from the dress she had been hemming.

"There are rebels throughout Devon and Cornwall," Edward muttered. "They're all Cornishmen."

"You do realize, dear husband, that Cornishmen speak Cornish?" Amelia asked. When Edward simply stared at her, she elaborated. "The reason that we now have mass in English is so that we can understand the Word of God, right? Well, if the Cornishmen don't fluently speak English, then having them listen to mass in English is like Englishmen listening to mass in the language that the Turks speak. At least when the Cornishmen received mass in Latin, they knew that everyone else was receiving the same mass."

Edward was silent for a moment. "What would you propose?" he eventually asked.

Amelia shrugged. "I'd probably start by sending a delegation of people I trust to let the rebels know that we recognize their concerns," she replied. "Then, I'd either allow the Cornishmen to hear mass in their native tongue, or begin a program to teach all Cornishmen, regardless of their status, English, and bill it as an effort to unify all of England under one language."

"What would you do?"

She leaned forward in her seat. "I'd start telling the Cornish lords to find tutors to help educate their people," Amelia told Edward before returning to her sewing.

* * *

17 June 1549

"When the peasants of the north rose up in rebellion against His Majesty, King Henry VIII, in the so-called Pilgrimage of Grace, His Majesty offered peace to the rebels, and went on a grand tour of the north to show the rebels that the Crown wanted peace," Edward began, standing in front of the Regency council. "To our Cornish brothers living in the west, I propose that we do the same thing. The reason behind the religious reforms is that everyone can understand the Word of God as it is read to them. For many of our fellow countrymen, the language they understand is English. This is not true for the Cornish. My proposal for dealing the with Cornish rebels is to deal with them peacefully."

"Peacefully?" John Dudley cried. "They are rebels against His Majesty deny his role as Supreme Head of the Church and rally against him." He turned to he was shouting at all of the members of the Council present. "Do you hear what our Lord Protector, the man who has sworn to protect all of England, has to say? He wants to negotiate with the rebels, as if it's possible to do such as thing!"

"I'd rather have peace than another war, my lord," Henry FitzAlan, the Earl of Arundel, replied. "We should at least give peace a chance. We don't need another civil war on our hands. How would you propose peace?"

"When there was rebellion in the North, King Henry VIII went to there to show the rebels that they were still part of England, and that they had not been forgotten," Edward said. "His Majesty showed that we were all one England. The same idea now must be applied to the West. I am proposing that, firstly, the English language be taught to everyone who does not already know how to speak it, so that everyone in England speaks one, common language. Secondly, I propose that services be given in Cornish, the native tongue of the Cornishmen, so that they, like us, can understand the Word of God. Thirdly, I propose that the royal family make a tour of the West, so that the Cornishmen can see that we want nothing more than to embrace them as we embrace all Englishmen."

John Dudley scoffed. "I know you, Your Grace," he said. "If it were up to you, we would have war on our hands. Who thought of this ridiculous peace plan, Your Grace?"

Edward smiled. "My beautiful wife, the woman who was raised to be a diplomat, suggested that I use diplomacy," he simply replied.

"A woman!" John Dudley shouted at his peers. "Our great, honourable Lord Protector is taking the advice of a simple woman! Has all her blood gone to her head so she can think? Is that why you have not had any more children, Your Grace?"

There was a silence that settled over the room, which made John Dudley's statements seem to echo. It was as if time had completely frozen, leaving every man in the room simply staring at one of the two standing men. Every man knew that John Dudley's statements were ridiculous. The Lady Amelia had always seemed to be an intelligent woman, and, on top of that, she had raised several children. At this point, to most of the men in the room, it appeared that John Dudley was grasping at straws, and all he really wanted to do was go to war.

"All those in favor of the peaceful approach, say 'aye,'" Edward said, turning his attentions to the whole room.

A resounding chorus of 'ayes' answered him.

"All those opposed, same motion," Edward continued.

"Aye!" a lone voice, from John Dudley, shouted.

"The motion carries," Edward concluded. "Planning and preparation will begin immediately."

* * *

When Edward returned home late that evening, he was greeted with a scene where his lovely wife, hunched over a book, was rocking their baby niece back and forth. The scene in this moment reminded Edward of exactly why he loved Amelia. She was kind and caring, as evidenced by the way she cared for Mary as if she were her own daughter. Her motherly instincts seemed unparalleled. As he got closer to her, he could see that the book she held in her hands was a brief history of Devon and Cornwall, the exact places were they would soon be heading to smooth relations over.

"It's late, love," he said softly when he got closer to Amelia. "Why don't you go to bed?"

"I'm not tired yet," she said with a yawn. She paused. "Maybe I am tired."

"I'll put Mary to bed," Edward replied. "We have a long journey to Devon and Cornwall ahead of us."

Amelia smiled widely as she passed Mary off to Edward before rising and kissing her husband's cheek. He watched her saunter off to their bedchamber, and then looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms. For some reason, John Dudley's question about why they hadn't had a child of their own stuck in his mind. Coming into their marriage, Edward had a son, and Amelia had three sons and three daughters, yet now, after nearly 2-and-a-half years of marriage, they did not have a child of their own. It was something that they had talked about when they had first been married. If they happened to get pregnant, then they would be happy. They would also be fine without having another child.

But what if things had changed, and Edward wanted to have a child with Amelia?

He placed Mary down in her cradle, and changed into his nightshirt before crawling into bed with Amelia and wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her body close to his.

"Amelia?" he whispered into the darkness.

"Mhmmm… what?" she mumbled sleepily in response, stirring slightly.

"I want to have another baby," he whispered.

"So do I," she mumbled before falling back to sleep.

Edward froze. That was not the answer that he was expecting.

* * *

18 June 1549

"John, you better stop running around!" Amelia shouted at her oldest son, who was running around their apartments rather than packing his things to go to Devon and Cornwall. "You are a Lord of England, please act like it!"

Edward chuckled as he stood next to her.

"It's not very funny, Your Grace," she said, turning on her husband. "He is the Duke of Suffolk. His late father made sure that that title carried prestige and grace, yet here he is running around our apartments like a wild boar."

They stood for another moment, watching the chaos of every child under their care attempting to pack their things for their first real journey as a family. "Do you remember what you said to me last night?" Edward finally whispered in her ear.

Amelia shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember," she replied. She watched as Edward's face fell. "What did I say? Was it important?"

Edward shook his head. "I'll tell you when we get back from this trip," he said. "Don't worry about it."

Amelia looked conflicted for a moment, decided whether or not she was going to press further, but she eventually gave Edward an apologetic smile before turning to continue to direct the children. Edward could only hope that when he brought up children again, she would give him the same answer.


	8. A Journey and A Confession

**A/N: It's been a few years (in the story) since it started. Here's how everyone now stacks up age wise: Amelia is 32 years old, Edward Seymour is 49/50, Elizabeth is 15, Mary is 33, Mary's husband Philip is 36, Mary's daughter Margaret is 8, Mary's daughter Annis is 6, Mary's daughter Katherine is 4, King Edward VI is 11, John Brandon is 15, Owen Brandon is 13, Eleanor Brandon is 11, Jane Brandon is 10, Nicholas Brandon is 8, Edward Seymour's son Thomas is 7, Philippa Brandon is 11, Mary Seymour is not yet 1, and Anne of Cleves is 34.**

* * *

25 July 1549

They had gathered everyone who had ever been part of the royal family for the trip to Cornwall. Amelia and Edward had managed to get Elizabeth, John, Owen, Eleanor, Edward, Jane, Nicholas, Thomas, and Philippa all ready to take their trip out west. In addition, they had convinced Mary and Philip to join them, along with their children, and Anne of Cleves. It had been a slow journey out west, with the number of horses that they had to take along and the number of stops that they made along the way.

After a long week of traveling, they finally arrived in Exeter, a large city in Devon. It was there that they were greeted by Sir Thomas Denys, the sheriff of Devon, and Richard Chamond of Launcells, the High Sheriff of Cornwall. Thomas Denys was a very old man of about 70, hunched over and seemingly shriveled up, his gnarled fingers wrapped around an ornate cane and his beady eyes shifting across the royal family in front of him. His counterpart from Cornwall, Richard Chamond, was a much younger man of about 40. While Thomas Denys looked at the royal family with suspicion and distrust, Richard Chamond appeared much more nervous, ringing his hands as his eyes darted back and forth rapidly. It was strange to see the contrast between the two men. From what Amelia understood, Thomas Denys had been the sheriff of Devon a few times in the past, and had had some experience with the royal family. Her brother Edward probably seemed a lot less intimidating than their father. Henry had stood nearly six feet in height, while Edward was a thin wisp of a child, barely reaching 4-and-a-half feet.

What King Edward lacked in intimidation, his family made up for. Edward Seymour, even with the wrinkles that were beginning to appear on the edges of his face, stood tall and intimidating, towering over both sheriffs. Amelia stood by his side, her back straight and shoulders pulled back, standing almost as tall as her husband with a serious expression on her face. Even though Mary was much shorter than her sister, her icy blue eyes held the coldest stare that she could possibly manage, which surely froze Richard Chamond when he dared to make eye contact.

Despite their age, Elizabeth and John also stood tall. Elizabeth's fiery hair matched the angry fire that burned in her eyes. Combined with her short stature, she looked more like a firecracker in comparison to her sister's ice queen, creating a startling contract between the two. John, on the other hand, stood at about 5 feet 10 inches, the same height as his mother, his face holding the same expression as Amelia's, despite his younger and softer features.

The atmosphere in the great room where they met was tense, to say the least. On one side was the royal family, who looked serious and borderline deadly. The other side of the room was several representatives of the people of Devon and Cornwall, including several who had incited the rebellion to begin with, as evidenced by the chains that they wore.

Thomas Denys spoke first. "The people of Devon and Cornwall welcome His Majesty and His Majesty's family to Exeter, although we deeply and sincerely wish that His Majesty's visit occurred under better circumstances," the old man said, taking a few steps forward and bowing. The people behind him did the same.

"Thank you, Sir Denys," King Edward replied, his small, high voice echoing in the hall.

"You understand the terms and conditions of this peace treaty, yes?" Edward Seymour asked.

Richard Chamond nodded vigorously. "Yes, Your Grace," the younger man responded quickly. "I have already reached out to several minor nobles and several tutors to begin working on teaching the commoners English. Although they grumble about the services no longer being in Latin, I believe that they will grow to accept the reforms put forth by His Majesty."

Satisfied by his response, Edward turned his attention to Thomas Denys. The two men simply sized one another up at first, before Thomas finally spoke. "Your terms and conditions will be met, as long as our terms and conditions are met as well," he said. He paused for a moment before Edward gave him the nod to continue. "We want to be regarded more highly by the crown," Thomas Denys continued. "Since the death of His Grace Henry Courtenay, neither Devon nor Cornwall has had much representation for the crown. We want someone to be named something, we want a Duke of Cornwall, an Earl of Devon, a Marquess of Exeter, something that gives us more representation in front of the crown. But we also want someone who will spend time in Devon and Cornwall, not all of his time in London."

There was silence for a moment as Edward Seymour mulled over the older man's words. "What do you think, Your Majesty?" he asked, turning to the younger Edward.

King Edward nodded his head. "I think that it is a good idea," he replied. "We shall begin a search while we are here."

There was cheering and applause as the rebel leaders were transferred into royal custody and the royal family began to disperse in the room, their faces appearing much more friendly as they went to meet the commoners.

* * *

14 October 1549

It was today that Amelia first heard of Gabriel de la Cueva y Girón.

A letter had arrived for Amelia while they were away, all the way from Spain. According to the letter, Gabriel de la Cueva, a knight and relation of the Duke of Albuquerque. In his letter, the knight proposed marriage to Eleanor, assuring Amelia that he would cease his pursuits if Amelia, Eleanor, or the Kings of England or Spain disagreed. For some reason, Amelia considered giving the knight a chance.

"What is that?" Edward asked, as he watched Amelia reread Gabriel's letter for the umpteenth time.

"Someone wrote to me with a marriage proposal for Eleanor," she murmured. "To me, not to His Majesty, or to you, but to me. I think that I'm considering it."

Edward shrugged and turned back to the book he had been reading. "No harm in giving it a chance," he said.

"What did you want to talk to me about before we left on our trip?" Amelia suddenly asked, looking up from the letter.

Edward's head snapped up from his book, his eyes quickly meeting Amelia's. There was a quick internal debate that he had, trying to decide whether or not to tell her about the conversation that they had had late at night. Eventually, he settled on telling the truth. "The night when I put Mary to bed, I realized something," he began. "Something inside me stirred, and for some reason, holding a baby in my arms seemed entirely natural, except for the fact that the baby was my niece, not my own child. I realized that I wanted to have another child. I think that you were too tired to remember, but I told you, and you agreed. When I brought it up the next morning, you didn't remember, and I decided to push it off to the side because I wasn't sure that you would remember, or you would still be of the same opinion."

Amelia was silent for a moment before she spoke. "I would love to have another child," she said quietly. "I'm also terrified at the prospect. Things simply feel different now than they did when I was a teenager. But I love you, Edward. I feel like, since we were friends first and then married, we developed a relationship with a strong base. You treat me as if I were your equal, and you listen to what I have to say. You value my opinions instead of push them aside."

"I love you too," Edward replied. "With Anne, we were disconnected. I loved her, but I don't know if she loved me. In all honesty, I don't deserve to be your husband. You're a princess, a diplomat, and you have more experience in foreign politics than I ever could have. I respect your opinions because I know that they are born from experience, not guesswork. I don't deserve to be your husband, Amelia. You deserve to be a queen, which is more than I could ever offer you, but you still decide to love me."

They decided that the ten children in their care was not enough. Maybe eleven would be.


	9. A Story and A Meeting

**A/N: Well, it's been almost exactly nine months since I've updated this story (wow). After a major case of writer's block, and class and work schedules that were positively insane, here's an update. Because it's finals time, you know, so that means I want to do anything but study. Amelia Tudor wouldn't've had to take finals.**

* * *

16 March 1550

Spring was starting to come around the corner, and all of England was excited to leave the dreary winter behind. It had not been an easy year for some. Relations with France were teetering on the edge, since King Henry II had been outspoken against the Protestants. His attitude towards the Huguenots, and the wars he started with Austria, were cause for concern for Amelia. Not a week went by without a plea from their foreign Protestant neighbors, or stories of the King burning Protestants at the stake or cutting out their tongue for what he called "heretical speech." A sad look would cross her face, and she would simply shake her head and stare at the ground when the news came in.

The more Amelia heard about the way that the French Protestants were being treated, the more she did not want to send her younger sister to them in marriage. Elizabeth was exceedingly intelligent, and had all the qualities of a Queen of any kingdom. She was graceful and elegant, and spoke with a soft, yet authoritative tone. But she was nearly seventeen, and Bologne was almost rebuilt. In a matter of months, Elizabeth would be married to Charles II de Valois, Duc d'Orléans.

It brightened Amelia's smile when she listened to Elizabeth speak of her fiancée. They had been writing letters back and forth for almost two years now. It almost broke the older woman's heart when she had to tell Elizabeth that their annual visit with one another would not take place that year, and that Henry was actively trying to figure out some way to break the contract. But in his letters, Charles reassured Elizabeth over and over that he was determined to marry her, and that not even his brother would be able to stand in their way.

And although there would be no official state visit to or from France this time, there was an official visit from Scotland that the crown was readying for. It was the first official visit since Edward had gone to negotiate peace in 1547, and England was buzzing with excitement. Rumors had been flying around the country that King Edward, though only twelve, would soon be engaged to a Scottish noblewoman in order to strengthen the alliance. The crown did nothing to dispel the rumors, allowing the people to believe what they wished to believe.

The regent of Scotland, James Hamilton, Duke of Châtellerault and 2nd Earl of Arran, was making the journey down to London with his oldest children: James, Anne, Jean, Barbara, and John. The rumors of marriage all circulated between Edward and fifteen-year-old Anne, the Duke's oldest daughter. In truth, both Amelia and her husband were not too keen on the marriage taking place. Their ambassadors reported that the Lady Anne was beautiful, but she had as much charm and grace as a fencepost.

These reports were confirmed when the Duke and his family appeared in English court. Amelia would admit that the Duke's daughter was beautiful, with fair skin and dark hair, but the fifteen-year-old Anne's mind seemed to wander off when her father began talking to Edward. Amelia stood by her husband's side, arm and arm, and pretended to listen to their conversation on the pros and cons of taxing imports from the German states, but silently evaluated the girl.

By the time the conversation came to a close, Amelia had decided that Anne was not the bride for Edward.

"She is a dull child who cannot be bothered to stand through a single conversation," Amelia had hissed at Edward when he asked her opinion.

A look of amusement crossed Edward's face. "You do realize, my darling wife, that His Majesty suffers from the same inability," he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Amelia shook her head. "I'm sure you were the same way when you were twelve years of age," she retorted, reminding him that the king was still a young boy.

"And soon, His Majesty will be the same age as your boy, the Duke," Edward whispered. "Shall he overcome his inability then?"

The two looked over to where John stood, with Frances by his side. The sixteen-year old and his seventeen-year-old fiancée were all smiles as they chatted with the Duke of Châtelleraullt's youngest daughter, who appeared to be excitedly telling them about a game that she loved to play. John looked more and more like his father with each passing day. His future wife was nothing short of beautiful standing next to her husband, her blonde hair tucked neatly into the hood she wore, and silver embroidery on her dress shining in the sunlight.

The look that John gave Frances when she wasn't looking nearly made Amelia's heart stop. It was the same look she used to catch on Charles's face. There was nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. And the look that Frances gave John when he wasn't looking held the same emotion.

"If he is anything like his nephew," Amelia said softly, tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes, "then he will overcome his inabilities, marry the love of his life, and have the happiest and most successful marriage in all of England."

Edward looked over at his nephew, who was playing some sort of game with Eleanor and Jane. One day, he would grow up to be a great ruler of England. The younger Edward was surrounded by intelligent people who only wanted the best for him.

Yes, he would be a successful King. One day.

* * *

If there was one word that Gabriel de la Cueva y Girón would use to describe his current state of mind, it would be nervous. He followed the Spanish ambassador through the halls of the palace, his letter from Charles clutched tightly in his hand. Rumors of the Lady Eleanor Brandon's beauty had swirled through Europe, despite her ties to the heretical Anglican religion.

She was the daughter of a Princess of England, niece to their current child king. Charles had wanted to marry the young girl himself, but there were several factors that prevented him from doing so. The House of Hapsburg would never allow their lineage to be tainted by the blood of a Protestant. He instead decided that Eleanor should fit somewhere else in their kingdom. Besides, she was the great granddaughter of Fernando and Isabel de Castilla. In Charles's mind, she belonged to Spain.

That was where Gabriel came in. He had already written to the Duchess of Somerset to express his interest in Eleanor. When Charles had discovered this, Gabriel thought he might lose his head. But instead, Charles was quite pleased. Gabriel was essentially a nobody, the second son of a Duke and a member of the Orden de Alcántara. Gabriel was low-risk, and Charles wholeheartedly approved.

And that was how Gabriel found himself in England, at a reception for the Regent of Scotland. If what he had heard was true, then he would be dealing only with the Duchess of Somerset herself, and not with her husband, in regards to marriage to Eleanor. That simple fact terrified him. While he was confident in his abilities to speak to other men, speaking to a woman about marrying her daughter just seemed… daunting.

And suddenly, there she was, the Duchess herself, standing tall and proud. Her skin had a touch of color to it, as if she had been kissed by the sun. Her green eyes sparkled as she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. She looked youthful, in a sense, but at the same time, had the aura of being older and wiser. He knew that she was thirty-two years of age, and considered to be an older woman by many, but in person, she seemed ageless.

"Your Graces," the ambassador greeted, bowing low. "Allow me to present my Lord Gabriel de la Cueva y Girón, son of His Grace Beltrán de la Cueva y Toledo, Duke of Albuquerque."

"Your Graces," Gabriel echoed, bowing low, the English words rolling effortlessly off his tongue.

The Duchess bowed her head. "I do believe you are here to discuss something with me, my lord," Amelia replied softly, glancing briefly at the letter in his hand. Gabriel gulped. "Shall we walk?" she asked, stepping away from her lord husband's side.

After a few minutes of walking in silence in the hall, Gabriel spoke. "His Imperial Majesty, the Holy Roman Emperor, has approved my proposal of marriage to my daughter," he stated, unsure of what to say.

" _Mi hija_ , my daughter, is only twelve years of age, my lord," Amelia replied smoothly. "How old are you?"

Gabriel sighed. "Nearly fourty and five, Your Grace," he mumbled in reply.

"I had just reached sixteen years of age when I married my late husband, the Duke of Suffolk," Amelia mused. "His Grace was fourty and nine years of age. To state my opposition to a union between yourself and my daughter on grounds of age would be hypocritical. I was deeply and madly in love with Charles, and I believe he came to love me."

He smiled. "I would hope for a relationship with your daughter that is as strong as that, Your Grace," he replied evenly.

She laughed. "Please, call me Lady Amelia if you must use a title," she said, and paused for a moment. "Now, on the grounds of religion, I was raised a Catholic, and I have no qualms with Catholicism. If His Imperial Majesty approves of the union, then religion is not a barrier to him. Do you, my lord, expect my daughter to convert to Catholicism in order to marry you?"

Gabriel hesitated. "It would be ideal for her to convert, yes," he answered. "His Imperial Majesty has recently enacted a policy giving the death penalty to all cases of heresy, Protestants and Moors alike."

"I shall confer with my daughter, and see what her thoughts are," Amelia said, mulling over the information. "Would you allow me to tell you a story, my lord?" she asked.

"Of course," Gabriel answered uneasily, unsure of what the story could possibly be about.

"About a hundred years in the past, there was a woman named Margaret Beaufort," Amelia began. She was twelve years of age when she married a man named Edmund, who was twenty and four years of age. It was a turbulent time for England. She had married a Lancastrian at the outbreak of the War of Roses. She was a tiny, young thing compared to her strapping husband, who went off to war shortly after their marriage, but not before consummating it.

"Therein lies the mistake. Edmund was taken captive by the Yorkists, and died in captivity. Poor Margaret was seven months pregnant with their child, and a widow, all at the tender age of thirteen. Both Margaret and her son survived the birth, although both nearly died multiple times. She was not able to have children after that, despite remarrying twice. Her son, His Majesty Henry the Seventh, was my grandfather.

"For this reason, my family does not marry young. If you did marry my daughter within the next year, I would beg of you to not consummate the marriage until she is older, and more likely to survive childbirth, so that she can give you all of the children you desire. Is this something that can happen, my lord? Because if it is not, I fear that I will ask you to look elsewhere for a bride."

"His Imperial Majesty is quite insistant on this marriage taking place soon," Gabriel murmured quietly. "I will not marry her until she is at least fourteen years of age, and our marriage will not be consummated until she has matured, and is of sound stature."

Amelia smiled. "This I can agree to, my lord, as long as she writes to me," she stated.

Gabriel smiled as well, glad that his conversation with Amelia had gone well.

* * *

Owen sighed deeply as he watched his older brother, John, make his fiancée, Frances, laugh. The two had become inseparable as of late, since they were supposed to get married next year. Owen couldn't help but sigh. He had been close with his older siblings once. Now Elizabeth was getting starry-eyed over Charles, the French prince, and John was cozying up to Frances. Even though there was a bigger age gap between him and John than there was between himself and his next youngest sibling, Eleanor, Owen had been closest to his brother. He, Elizabeth, and John had been a trio, while Eleanor had Edward and Jane, and the youngest three, Nicholas, Philippa, and Thomas, were close.

Part of him was convinced that he would never marry. He saw the way that John looked at Frances, and how Elizabeth pored over her letters from Charles with the biggest smile on her face. Would he ever have a love like that, or would his marriage be loveless, like Jane's was bound to be? It was no secret that, even at only ten years of age, she absolutely abhorred Thomas Howard.

There was a soft noise behind him, and Owen's head whipped around, only to be met with a surprised looking girl about to tap his shoulder. She froze, her outstretched hand still hovering midair. The little redhead quickly composed herself, and bowed. "My lord, forgive me," she said softly. "I did not mean to startle you."

Owen shook his head. "It is alright, my lady," he replied, bowing his head. "May I ask your name?"

"I am Lady Jane FitzAlan, daughter of the Earl of Arundel," she stated. "My father tells me that we might marry one day, and I desired to make your acquaintance."

A blush spread across her cheeks as she spoke, and she looked down at the floor. Owen smiled. "I am happy to make your acquaintance, my lady," he said, just as someone called out her name. "I regret that we do not have more time together, as I think your father has just called for you, but I do hope that we shall meet again in the future."

Jane smiled. "I would like that very much, my lord," she whispered, before bowing and scampering off to find her father.

Owen sat back in his chair, thinking of the girl. He was thirteen years of age, and this girl was perhaps eight or nine. It intrigued him that she seemed bold, going to tap his shoulder, yet she was bashful when he spoke to her. His mother hadn't mentioned anything about an arrangement, but he liked Jane. Even if she wasn't going to be his future wife, perhaps they could be friends. After all, her hair was a pale shade of red, as was his. Red heads had to stick together, right?

Unbeknownst to him, his mother had reentered the main hall, and had watched the entire interaction. Maybe, she thought, it was time to talk to the Earl of Arundel again


End file.
